


though you make believe

by mazily



Category: Go On (TV)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-10
Updated: 2013-11-10
Packaged: 2018-01-01 01:14:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,612
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1038586
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mazily/pseuds/mazily
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Litigation is probably a little too expensive for this particular situation."</p>
            </blockquote>





	though you make believe

**Author's Note:**

  * For [gloss](https://archiveofourown.org/users/gloss/gifts).



> Title from Alice Cary.

Carrie appears out of nowhere--or the Pinkberry, judging by the cup in her hand, which is completely beside the point. The point which is her mouth on Anne's, a whispered "play along, I'll explain later" against Anne's lips, something wet and cold against Anne's stomach. 

Anne plays along. Carrie's not bad at this, even though there's probably a chocolate stain the size of Alaska on Anne's new blouse. That's what dry cleaners are for. Carrie pulls back, and her cheeks are flushed. Her lips are all wet and dewy and shit. King is standing right behind her. 

Anne blinks. He's still there. "King's standing right behind you," she whispers. 

"Yeah," Carrie says. 

"Guh," King says. His face keeps doing some sort of weird fish impression, and he drops his shopping bags. Picks them up again. "I. You. We."

"Five seconds in and out, just grabbing a Kopitar jersey, my ass," Anne says. 

"Hey," Carrie says. She waves with the hand that isn't currently wrapped around Anne's wrist. The yogurt cup goes flying onto the sidewalk. One of those frou-frou yappy dogs runs to eat the leftovers.

"Carrie," King says. He coughs. Laughs. "Uh, there was only one cashier, and she was, like, so in trouble with her parents for staying out late. So yeah." He lifts up his bags, shaking them.

They stand there like idiots for a little while. Carrie picks up her Pinkberry cup, tosses it into a nearby trash can. King pulls the small brown bag from the watch place out from one of his giant plastic monstrosities and hands it to Anne. One of Patty's old watches, newly rebanded. The seventeenth meeting of the dead wife shopping club.

"Thanks," Anne says. "You know, for-"

"Hey," King says. He snaps his finger. "You guys going to the group non-demotional spring festival tiki party together? Remember what Lauren said about dates being not only welcome but good for the healing process or something. She banged on her little gong after she said it, so it was definitely important."

"Non-denominational," Anne says. 

Carrie reaches out and takes Anne's hand back in hers. Smiles. "Of course," she says. "Wouldn't miss it for the world." Her hand slides down and she--they tangle their fingers like it's junior high. 

Anne slides her shopping bag back toward her elbow, uses her newly empty hand to wipe her glasses on the hem of her shirt. A nervous tic. One she drilled out of herself back in fucking torts. She really hates not knowing what's going on.

King looks away. Pulls his iPhone out of pocket and looks at it. Puts it away. He never even powers it up. "I gotta," he says, pointing in the general direction of the pretzel kiosk. "Emergency at work, you know how it is."

"Oh, totally," Carrie says. Anne can practically feel her rolling her eyes the sarcasm is so strong.

He's three stores away and when turns around to wave. "See you at the party!"

*

They do shots--actual, real, non-scammed happy hour priced shots.

"I quit my job," Carrie says. She downs her shot and slams the glass down on the bar. "I quit. My job. For him. For a guy--which, yes, I do hate myself--and then we're together less than a month and poof."

"There there," Anne says. She slides her shot over. Carrie needs it more. 

"So I panicked," Carrie says. "So sue me."

Anne orders another round. And some nachos. "Litigation is probably a little too expensive for this particular situation," she says. "Not to mention overkill. Of course, now we need to"--she makes finger quotes, what the fuck is wrong with her today--"break up before the party. It'll be tragic."

Carrie's tracing circles on the bar top. "Or I could go?" she says. 

"I'll even let you do the dump," Anne says. "Wait, what."

"I could go?" Carrie says. "To the party. With you. On a date."

Anne swallows her shot: well tequila, like they think she can't tell the difference. She coughs. Looks around the bar, searching for hidden Kings like this is some fucked up Where's Waldo? puzzle.

"Is he behind me?" she asks. "One blink for yes, two for no."

Carrie wrinkles her nose, confused and stupidly adorable about it. "No?" she says. 

"Then I don't-"

"You're hot," Carrie says. Which is true. She looks determined. Serious. "I kissed you because he's seeing some Laker Girl bitch or whatever, and I panicked when I saw the two of you, but you're hot and funny and what the hell."

"I could have a date already," Anne says. She traces the spot where she no longer has a wedding band. Gestures for the bartender to close her tab out. "What King doesn't know could fill universes."

"Tell me about it," Carrie says. She blushes. Turns to look Anne in the face. "Which is part of why I dumped him, which is so not the point right now you don't even--"

"I don't, though," Anne says. Fuck it. "Have one."

"--know," Carrie says. "So you'll take me?"

"Stop batting your eyelashes, I'm easy," Anne says. "You had me at fucking with King."

Carrie pushes her unfinished shot back. "I'm not drunk," she says. And then she kisses Anne, and kisses her, until the drunken asshole bro catcalls get annoying enough that Anne throws her plate across the room.

*

"Wait," Anne says. There's something hard under her back, probably one of those toys Mr. K keeps bringing over. She digs it out. Tosses it blindly across the room. She pushes Carrie's hair away from her face. "Are we practicing faking it so you can get back at King or save you some embarrassment or--"

"Ryan's not here," Carrie says. 

"I do know that," Anne says. She flips them so she can press Carrie down, use her body to hold her in place. She mouths at the juncture of Carrie's neck and ear. "Hence my use of the word practice. And the confusion."

Carrie tries to shift her weight. Her hips buck, and she runs a hand through Anne's hair. Pulling out the tie, fingers working out the tangles. "Can we just," she says. Anne kisses her, soft and then mean. "Not."

"Deal," Anne says. She takes her glasses off, drops them on the coffee table. Carrie tastes like tequila and cherry chapstick. Anne opens the top couple of buttons on Carrie's shirt; her skin is flushed as far as the eye can see, hot against Anne's hand.

Carrie slides her hand up the bottom of Anne's blouse--when did she untuck it?--and traces a line beneath Anne's bra. Tip of her nail, soft enough to tease. "Can I take this off?" she asks. 

"Polite," Anne says. She unbuttons Carrie's shirt all the way. "I approve."

"Rude," Carrie says. She smiles. Reaches back to unclasp Anne's bra without letting her take her shirt off first. 

"I like role playing Girl Scout Camp as much as the next gal," Anne says. She pulls her shirt up over her head. Probably losing a button or two in the process. "But maybe we save that for our first date."

"I still have one of those green sashes," Carrie says. She shakes her head like she's trying to knock water out of her ears. "Nope, not doing it for me."

"Probably for the best," Anne says. She leans back down. Starts kissing a trail down Carrie's body. 

The doorbell rings. Someone starts pounding on the door. "Fuck," Anne says. She lies down on top of Carrie. Presses her nose against her shoulder. "Fifty dollars says that's King."

Carrie kisses the top of Anne's head. "In the library," she says. "With the candlestick."

Anne pulls herself up. 

The knocking continues, four fists against the door to every ring of the bell. Anne pulls on her wrecked shirt, buttoning the lone remaining button. Carrie smooths down her hair. Tucks her bra under a sofa cushion.

"I know you're in there!" King shouts. Shave-and-a-haircut on the door. 

"Oh, fuck off," Anne says. She opens the door to King's fist in front of her face. "I'll see you at group tomorrow, King."

"She's using you," King says. Shouts, really. 

Anne smiles. "Let me guess," she says. She makes a point of looking like she's really thinking about it. Carrie pads up behind her. Practically silent in bare feet. "This is all about you, right?"

"Well," Ryan says. He gestures between Anne and Carrie a couple of times. Looks at them pointedly. Points at himself. "Obviously."

"Anne," Carrie says. She opens her eyes wide. Fake innocence at its best. "It's true. This is all about Ryan. I can't think Anne's hot, or like her of my own free will because, say it with me now: everything is about Ryan."

Anne nods. Struggles not to smile. "I heard something about the Lakers losing because of him," she says. 

"Not my fault!" Ryan says. "Not! My!"

Anne can't help herself: he's ridiculous. She cracks up, and Carrie does too--leaning against Anne's side, giggling like she's never seen anything this funny before. 

"Fine," Ryan says. He points at Anne. Finger practically in her face, and she tells herself she doesn't want to snap her teeth at him. This is only about half about his ego. He's a good dude, King, when he's not being a jerk. "Tomorrow. Group. See you then."

He walks back to his car like he's stopping himself from running. "Don't worry," Anne says. She closes the door. Backs Carrie up against it and pushes an unruly strand of her hair behind her ear. "I like you too."


End file.
